


The Fight

by Josselin



Series: Laurent Is a Girl [13]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Consensual Sibling Incest, F/M, Laurent is a girl, Sibling Incest, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 11:14:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18475105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: “Damen’s not coming,” Auguste said.Laurent turned around from the window to face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her expression was narrow. “Why not?”





	The Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during [Playing Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17017260), but instead of Damen being heartbroken with unsympathetic Nikandros, we get Auguste's perspective.
> 
> Thank you to Kittendiamore and Mist for helping me to refine it!

When Auguste came back inside, he noticed that an extra pair of Damen’s sneakers were still on the shoe rack near the door. And there was some coupon that Damen had got for a free bowl of ice cream sitting in the bowl where he put his keys and his wallet.

Auguste threw out the ice cream coupon, which he justified to himself that he might have done it anyway, and resisted the impulse to throw out Damen’s shoes, or at least pack all of Damen’s remaining stuff into a box and ship it to him. He resisted because Laurent was pacing around the living room nervously, glancing out the window and then tossing a look back at her textbook and then turning to look out the window again. 

He didn’t know what she was looking for, but he could guess. Damen had parked on the wrong side of the building for her to see, and she didn’t seem to have noticed Auguste going down to talk to him. She was still waiting.

Whatever, he told himself. She’d be relieved when he didn’t show up. She’d been on edge for days, probably as long as she’d suspected about Damen, and she was probably amidst some kind of enormously complicated plan to take revenge on whatever floozy Damen was hooking up with, but it would be better for all of them when Damen was out of the picture. If they wanted to take revenge, they could do it later. After more preparation.

Auguste sat down with his work computer and opened his email and stared at it without registering any of the messages.

He’d thought there would be some explanation.

He couldn’t imagine what it was, when he had found the condom wrappers in his bedroom, but he had assumed there was some kind of explanation. Something. Damen wanted to try to ass-to-mouth, and Laurent insisted on a condom. Except not that, obviously, because that made no sense. He couldn’t imagine Damen wanting to try it, he wasn’t even that into anal, and there was no way Laurent would have been on board with it. She didn’t perform oral at all. And frankly, from the alarming way the two of them were willing to go from Damen rimming Laurent to making out, they might not have even insisted on a condom, which was also horrifying. 

Anyway, he couldn’t think of what the explanation would be, but he had thought there would be something. He’d been kind of braced for the idea that he wouldn’t like it. They had decided to pick up a third while he was in France? They were doing something dirty enough that condoms helped with the cleanup? He’d even been braced for the idea of lies that he wouldn’t believe. Damen was a horrible liar, so they wouldn’t have even been remotely convincing, but Auguste had been emotionally prepared for that, he told himself. Maybe. He’d at least contemplated it before he talked to Damen.

He hadn’t contemplated that Damen would look as miserable as he felt and offer zero explanation whatsoever.  
Auguste was furious with him. He should throw out all of his stuff, he thought. And that was still too good for that cheating bastard. He should have punched him. Made Damen get out of the car and had it out on the sidewalk. 

Laurent wouldn’t even have been able to see from the window; it would have been fine. Though Auguste supposed she would notice when he came back in with a black eye or a split lip or something. But maybe that would have been better, because she could have fussed over him and gotten him some ice and been warmed up and and sympathetic to the news that Damen wasn’t coming. 

Punching was still too good for Damen. Auguste should figure out who he was cheating with, and he should ruin them. Both of them. After he figured out if either one of them possibly had any type of STD. And if they did, he was going to ruin them even more dramatically. 

Laurent was still pacing. She checked her phone on the table for messages, next to her textbook, and seemed disappointed by whatever lack of them she found, and then she paced back over to the window. 

Auguste walked over to where her book was sitting and casually pocketed her phone.

“I’m ordering dinner,” he announced, trying to make his voice sound normal. “What do you want? Falafel?”

That was a good will gesture. Auguste didn’t care for the Mediterranean place that made Laurent’s favorite falafel. He could see hints of their kitchen from the front of the store and it was impossible to believe the way they cleaned the grill by tossing water on it was up to code. But he was trying to cheer her up. 

Laurent didn’t look away from the window where she was staring down at the street. “Damen’s gonna cook when he arrives,” she said.

Okay, food had been the wrong topic to broach this. 

“Damen’s not coming,” Auguste said, using the same firm but neutral tone he’d used when he’d asked about food. 

Laurent turned around from the window to face him. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her expression was narrow. “Why not?” She was waiting for an explanation. Weren’t they all waiting for an explanation, Auguste thought to himself bitterly.

Auguste spread his arms, fake cheerful. “So, falafel? I know that place is your favorite--”

“I thought Damen was coming,” said Laurent. “He always comes over for dinner on Fridays.”

“Not today,” Auguste said tightly.

“Why not?” said Laurent again. The anxiety level in her voice was rising dramatically. “He said he was coming--I talked to him this morning and he said--”

“Calm down,” Auguste interrupted, which had worked on his sister in the past, approximately never.

“He said--” Laurent was just becoming louder.

Auguste gave up on trying to be truthful. “Maybe something came up. I don’t know. He’s not--”

“Why wouldn’t he tell me?” Laurent walked back over to the table where she’d left her textbook and her phone, obviously looking for her phone. Auguste could feel its weight in his pocket and said nothing. 

“He told me,” Auguste said. Laurent was really on edge. Damen’s recent idiocy must have really been affecting her. He could tell she’d been--off--when she came back from her class trip, quiet and reserved and keeping to herself, less interested in him or Damen. And then he’d had to leave for France for work, and he hadn’t known that Damen was a cheating piece of shit, yet, so he’d cornered her alone in the bathroom for a moment and said, “Are you gonna be okay with Damen for a week?”

She had leaned against his chest heavily and nodded against his shirt.

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be fine with Damen,” she had promised, and he obviously was a terrible brother because he’d believed that, and left her with him. It was worse than when he had left her with their uncle. Then he’d truly had no suspicion of what was happening. He’d known Laurent wasn’t happy, but their parents had died, she was a teenager, he hadn’t expected her to be happy. He had had no idea what was really happening until she had already dealt with the situation.

He was more attentive to her moods, now, and he’d known she was upset and he’d left for France anyway, and he’d compounded the problem of leaving her while she was upset by leaving her with someone who turned out to be spectacularly untrustworthy and a complete asshole. If Damen was cheating, what else was he doing? Who knew what he did with Laurent when Auguste wasn’t there? Auguste had some idea, because Laurent often talked about what they did--with occasionally questionable veracity--or Damen mentioned what they’d done casually enough, if asked. Or Auguste had walked in on them when he came home a bit early and they weren’t necessarily expecting him yet. 

He had some idea of what they were like together, all Damen’s easy smiles and Laurent giggling and a lot of making out. But his mental picture of them hadn’t included Damen being a complete idiot and bringing someone else over to have sex with.

Had he done it while Laurent was there? Did she know? Is that why she was so upset?

“Where’s my phone?” Laurent said. “It was right here.”

“You must have put it somewhere else,” Auguste lied, keeping his voice disinterested. “Laurent,” his voice sharpened, and she looked up at him. “What happened last week?”

Laurent was refusing to make eye contact and staring at the kitchen over Auguste’s shoulder. “What?” she said.

“Honey,” he started, gentler. 

“Why isn’t Damen here?” she shouted. “He said he was coming and I need him.”

Laurent thinking that she needed that asshole was like the worst of it.

“Well, he’s not coming,” Auguste said, starting to feel more frustrated.

“Why not?” Laurent lifted up her textbook and put it down again and then glanced at the floor around the table. She was clearly still trying to find her phone. “He wouldn’t just not come--”

“Maybe he would,” said Auguste, darkly.

“He wouldn’t!” Laurent was shrill.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you thought.”

“What did he say?” said Laurent. “Why did he tell you and not me--” she looked at Auguste suddenly, and stood up straight. “What did you say?” she said.

“It doesn’t matter who said what,” said Auguste.

Laurent took a step closer to him. “You told him not to come.”

“People say all kinds of things,” said Auguste.

“Don’t lie to me,” Laurent said menacingly. 

Auguste took a step backward into the kitchen as Laurent rounded on him. “You don’t want to see him.”

“What did you tell him?” she said.

“Laurent--”

“Where’s my phone?” she said again. “I’m calling Damen.”

“No,” he said. “You are not going to talk to him.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you take my phone?”

“You’re really--”

“Where did you put it!”

“--out of control--”

“Give it back!”

Laurent launched herself at him, ostensibly to get her phone back, though she seemed more intent on mauling him. 

Auguste caught her arms and pinned them to her sides in self defense, and then frog marched her into the living room and wrestled her onto the couch, where it was easier to use his weight to pin her down without either of them getting injured. 

Laurent bashed his chin with the top her head, which hurt, and she bit his shoulder viciously, which almost drew blood, and he swore a lot. Then he managed to get her in a hold where she couldn’t bite him and her arms were pinned.

“Let me go!” Laurent insisted.

“You’re going to bite me again,” he objected.

“You can’t hold me like this forever!”

“Calm down!” he squeezed her arms for emphasis, which just made her wriggle more emphatically for a moment before she stilled. 

Laurent began to fight emotionally dirty. “Think about what Mom would say if she saw you right now.”

“Mom always gave you time out for biting me,” Auguste said defensively. 

The seed was planted, though. Auguste thought, sometimes, in the dark of the night, about what his mother would think of him. He could hardly picture what things would be like if she were alive. Everything would have been different if their mother were still alive. Laurent would live with her, and nothing bad would have ever happened to Laurent, and Auguste would only see them on like, Christmas, or maybe for dinner on Laurent’s birthday or something. 

He wanted that, so desperately he could hardly stand it, and yet at the same time he couldn’t even imagine it. Sometimes he looked at Laurent while she was sleeping, and he thought about how awful he was for her. Their mother would have never wanted this.

“I’m trying to protect you,” Auguste said.

“You do not get to make decisions for me!” Laurent shouted. 

“Yes, I do,” Auguste said. “Because I’m your guardian.”

Laurent elbowed him suddenly, and he almost lost his grip on her, and it took him a minute to renew his hold on her arms. 

“Damen wouldn’t just abandon me like this,” she said. “Let me talk to him!” She tried to free a hand to grab at her phone, which she had found in his pocket. 

Auguste grunted and held her tighter. 

“You leave me all the time,” she said, getting vicious again. “You skip dinner with me all the time. But Damen wouldn’t do that.” It was true that Auguste was unreliable at coming home to eat with Laurent, and that Damen’s hours were more regular and he and Laurent had ended up eating together frequently. But not only did Damen eat at their place, he brought over other people to fuck at their place, too, so the dinner thing seemed like a low blow. 

“Part of being an adult,” Auguste told Laurent, “is breaking up with people. You’ll get over it.”

“Breaking up?” Laurent actually stopped struggling. Her voice cracked. 

“You weren’t happy anyway,” he told her, thinking back to how strange and distant she’d been the last few weeks. “This will be better.”

“You can’t break up with Damen for me,” Laurent said.

“Yes, I can,” said Auguste. “I did.” 

Laurent twisted around to look at him. “No,” she said. “You can’t.” Laurent looked horrified.

“It’s better this way,” Auguste said. Laurent looked so horrified he loosened his grasp on her a little. He kept talking, trying to convince himself more than her. “It’s better this way. We don’t need someone else around. I’ll do better at--coming home to have dinner with you, and I wouldn’t ever--Laurent--” he tried to protect her from the tragedy of what Damen had done. “Laurent, there’s no one else for me,” he said. He could feel his cheeks were wet.

“I’m running away with him,” Laurent said.

Auguste tightened his grip on her again. “No.”

“You can’t hold me forever,” she said. “You’ll get tired, or fall asleep, or have to go to work, or--something, and then I’m going to find Damen and I’m staying with him.”

“No,” Auguste told her. “Damen doesn’t want--that’s not going to work, Laurent!”

“If you want to break up with Damen, fine! You can’t break me up with Damen!”

“I’ll handcuff you here and you won’t leave,” Auguste threatened. 

“Mom would love that!” Laurent said, squirming again. Auguste loosened his grip, and his eyes were blurry and wet, and Laurent was fast, and she twisted and beat at his chest with her fists ineffectually. “I hate you!” Laurent said.

Auguste let her hit him.

After a few minutes, she seemed to remember about her phone, and lunged for his pocket, which meant that he caught her up against his chest again and pinned her arms in a bear hug, holding her against him and hoping she didn’t bite him again.

She didn’t. He gave a slow moan and she echoed it back to him, breathing wetly against his shirt, crying into his chest. He patted her back a little, trying to comfort her. 

She cried hysterically, for a few minutes, and it was as though there were an inverse relationship between how upset one of them was and the other one’s ability to remain calm, because as she went to pieces in his arms, he regained some calm, stroking her back and whispering to her about how it was okay, it was going to be okay. 

Laurent’s sobs subsided. She hiccuped against his chest. His shirt was a mess of tears. He kept rubbing her back.

Then, she bit him again.

He pushed her away by the shoulders, feeling affronted.

Laurent looked mad. Her eyes were red and her face was wet. “You broke us up with Damen!” 

Auguste raised his hands, entreatingly. “Okay, fine,” he said. “You know what? I’ll call him. You aren’t listening to me, but maybe you’ll listen to him.”

Laurent clearly wasn’t going to take Auguste’s word that Damen was a cheating bastard, so it’d be better if Damen told her himself. Auguste hadn’t been able to get Damen to explain anything, earlier, so let Damen face Laurent’s wrath. She could bite him, instead. And maybe after, Auguste could punch him, like he’d contemplated earlier. 

Laurent stayed on his lap while he called Damen, but he wasn’t pinning her hands any longer and she didn’t bite him again. 

There was a tense period of silence while they waited for Damen to come over. Laurent moved a foot away on the couch and watched him warily. He kept his phone in his hand and looked back at her. Her hair was a mess, from the wrestling and the crying, and her skin was red from being upset and her eyes were still a bit bloodshot. 

There was a knock at the door.

It turned out that Laurent was the one with the explanation all along. Auguste listened to her recount how she’d forgotten her birth control pills with a distant sense of horror. 

It wasn’t Damen’s fault. Damen hadn’t cheated--he owed Damen an apology.

It wasn’t his fault, either. He hadn’t done something that had driven Damen away or made Laurent sad.

Except it was his fault. 

He should have known better than to trust her to take the pills; he should have never even helped her get birth control pills. He should have always used protection. No, he should have never touched her. He should have never even let her be with anyone--had he even touched her recently? He’d been in France, and then he’d been home but he hadn’t--and then he’d been in France again, and then she’d been away--he wasn’t sure what the timeframe was in question.

Laurent didn’t mention their mother, again, but she didn’t need to. Auguste was thinking of her anyway. He hadn’t been able to visit his mother’s grave since Laurent had moved in with him; he hadn’t let himself visit his mother’s grave since Laurent had moved in with him. He knew Laurent went every year on their mother’s birthday so he’d planned a fake trip for work that week and he thought Laurent had gone with Damen. He couldn’t do it; he was too ashamed. 

They went to bed without ever having eaten dinner, exhausted. 

Later, Auguste couldn’t sleep. He watched Laurent sleep for a while and then left Damen and Laurent curled up together in the bed and wandered out to the living room. He sat down and looked out at the lights of the city, the slowly moving red and white lights of traffic, the blinking airplane lights at the top of the towers. 

It might be better, Auguste thought, if he did let Laurent run off with Damen. Damen had shown that he would try to protect Laurent even when it wasn’t to his own advantage, and he’d take care of her. Auguste could give them some money, and Damen would be a good father, if--

Damen would marry Laurent, eventually, once she was old enough, or if she filed for emancipation, and they would be good together. Auguste would see them only infrequently. On holidays, maybe. Or he could move to Paris like his client kept hinting, and he could just send gifts at holidays. 

It would be better that way, he thought. He should tell Damen and Laurent, he thought. 

He stared out the window longer. The city had a blue-green haze to it at night, from the lights that spilled out of windows or off streetlights.

He heard a noise, and glanced over, and Laurent padded barefoot into the room. 

She sat down on his lap. 

“Don’t bite me,” he said quietly. 

“I won’t,” she said. 

They both looked out at the city for a while. He thought about telling her that she’d be better off with Damen. Or, he could tell her that he needed to move to France. She and Damen could just stay in the same place, so it wouldn’t even interrupt their routines. It would just be like when he traveled for work, except--forever.

Why hadn’t she just told him? 

“What did you think I would do?” he said, finally. 

Laurent yawned. “I don’t hate you,” she said, a non-sequitur. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Laurent,” he sighed, making the word gentle.

“Do you have to go to France next week?” Laurent said, in a small voice.

He hesitated. He should say yes. He should start to hint that he should move to France. He should start to peel himself away from her, from Damen, from their lives. “No.”

Laurent made a contented noise, pressing closer to him. “Good.”

“Did you--talk to Damen about what you want to do?”

Laurent made a noise. “He was useless, he just said, ‘Whatever you want, sweetheart.’” She curled up closer to him in the chair for a moment, and then stood, and stretched out a hand toward him. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?” she said. Her hand was still waiting for him to grasp it.

He took her hand, and she tugged him back toward the bedroom.


End file.
